


Pray For Me

by Capbuckyang



Series: All The Stars [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Bodyguard, Character Study, Developing Relationship, F/M, Family Dynamics, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capbuckyang/pseuds/Capbuckyang
Summary: T’Challa wonders sometimes if his father ever regretted keeping it a secret. Did he ever think of the little boy living alone in a world that would never truly be his? How with just a single visit he changed his entire life?Did he ever wonder about him finding his way back?Would he have left him then, knowing what Erik would become now?





	Pray For Me

**Author's Note:**

> You don't necessarily need to read part 1, but it will definitely give you more background on things coming forth and make the story line cohesive. Either way, hope you enjoy living in T'Challa's head as much as I do.

 

* * *

 

 

The first mission goes wrong in every way things could ever go wrong, but the weeks leading up to it are far from wrong.

They’re almost too right, good in ways that T’Challa should have second guessed now that he thinks about it, strapped against the wall, his suit across the floor, glinting silver and grey, thinking of home and his family. 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

*

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

Erik spends a lot of time just staring.

Staring at sunsets, at the trees, at the trains speeding by. He stares at the people in villages, people in the farms, stares at Bucky like he knows exactly how he feels, and maybe he does, T’Challa doesn’t ask because Erik never says, never tells him what he’s thinking. It’s always a worry, for the back of his mind, that seeing all the innovation, health, and budding industry in Wakanda will flame the anger and devastation Erik harbor’s so close to his heart.

T’Challa was taught to look at every angle, every aspect of a situation before firing or agreeing or settling. He knows what to look for and he’s found a solution before it explodes, too.

“You’re going to send him with Nakia?” Shuri asks him, looking up from her new communication device.

“The outreach program is a step in the direction he was fighting for,” T’Challa says and hands her a blue microchip to place inside the device. “He was also fighting for destroying everything in his path,” Shuri says and laughs when T’Challa sighs.

“Oh come on brother, I know he’s been changing. Are you afraid he’ll fall back on his old ways?” T’Challa shrugs. He just wants Erik to know that he understands the underlying reason. Even if he doesn’t agree or support even a small amount of what Erik had planned, he knows Wakanda can’t live in isolation forever. Not after seeing all those that do need help and how much Wakanda could provide.

“I need you to help me convince Nakia,” T’Challa says. Shuri drops her tools and gives him an exasperated expression.

“I’m pretty sure she’d do it for you, brother,” she teases him and T’Challa bumps his shoulder against hers, laughing at the expression on her face.

“She likes you more though,” T’Challa says and Shuri points at a screen above his head and he grabs the screen compartment for her.

“Everyone likes me better than you,” she says and T’Challa makes a hurtful gasp, clutching the screen in hand, high above from where she can reach.

“T’Challa! Come on, I need one more piece to complete this!” she insists while jumping up for it, laughing when T’Challa holds it higher; he can’t help but laugh too.

“Who’s the most liked again?” T’Challa teases her and she grabs his arm, laughing when he moves it out of her way again.

“If I like you best, isn’t that enough?” Shuri asks and T’Challa hates and loves that he’s so easy for her.

Since the day she was born, a small bundle of purple and pink cloth in his mother’s arms, to the moment she smiled at him when he picked her up and placed her on his hip to show her the rhino’s the Dora Milaje were training in the fields, to the girl who created an invention every day since she could walk, grabbing T’Challa’s hand as soon as he was done with lessons to show him.

To the young woman today who held strong for his mother and himself when they lost so much.

He hands her the screen and kisses her forehead.

“More than enough.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

The council advises them to train together.

They tell T’Challa at the end of an early morning meeting that they need the jaguar and panther to work as one, and practicing their skills and creating ways they would be in line with each other and in sync was essential.

Erik is still not allowed to sit in council with him. T’Challa would have argued about it, and considering how much they want him to rely on the jaguar, he should be given privilege here, but he let it go.

Erik wasn’t that thrilled with the prospect of being in the same room as the people who still give him a skeptical eye even when he’s doing something as simple as walking from the great hall to his own bedroom.

It would take time for Wakanda to trust Erik again, but T’Challa believed it could happen.

After all, Erik still had N’jobu’s blood running through his veins and he would always be considered family no matter what went on between him and his father.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“So do you spar with the avengers too?” Erik asks when T’Challa comes into the gym one night, wearing nothing to hide his scars, which he does quiet often.

T’Challa just assumes Erik doesn’t like the way the clothes feels against his skin. Or maybe he just runs hot all the time, burning up with all he wants to say but holds himself back now.

“The Avengers?”

“Ya, Cap and Stark and all of them,” Erik asks like T’Challa’s just being slow on the uptake. He had a long day, working with the United Nations and their incredibly dense individuals takes a lot out of him.

“Barely had time to spar then, there was too much going on in between,” T’Challa says and starts taking off his robes and dressing into something more fit for sparring session.

“Damn, thought you could tell me if the Panther was stronger than the rest,” Erik smirks and gets into position in front of him.

“I am,” T’Challa says even though he’s probably not in any shape, way, or form ready to fight the Hulk and would never want to test that theory out anyway.

“Well then show me what you got hot shot,” Erik says, raising his fist and it’s in that moment that he realizes this is the first time they’ve ever been in such close proximity since they fought between the trains, or earlier than that during the challenge.

Falling off that cliff, hearing his mother’s and sister’s screams, the feeling of cold seeping into his veins.

“T’Challa?” Erik asks, peering across at him, dropping his fists when T’Challa stays frozen for a moment, trying to disentangle himself from the vivid, terrifying memory.

T’Challa shakes the thoughts out of his head and raises his fists.

Erik didn’t take him down in his sudden moment of weakness, chose to wait him out while T’Challa got his bearings but that didn’t mean T’Challa was planning to go easy on him. He readies his stance and Erik does his own, both graceful and smooth, ready to pounce.

Erik laughs when T’Challa gives in for the first blow and misses. He catches his arm in the second one and it spirals from there.

They spar for hours, he ends up with bruises and scratches, but also a feeling euphoria he can’t really explain. Erik’s skin slides across from his when he holds him in a trap, the scars feeling oddly sensual rather than odd or repulsive. T’Challa breaks the hold and flips them over, lands on top of him on the gym mat, both sweaty and breathing hard. His hand lands on Erik’s chest, right where the spear had sliced into his chest before, and Erik freezes for a minute, tenses up until T’Challa pulls back, offering him a hand to stand up.

Erik takes it.

It’s progress. T’Challa pulls him up and slams him back against the wall, lets Erik twist them around until he’s got him trapped again, breathing hard and holding on tight. T’Challa tips his head back, baring his neck, and it distracts Erik enough to loosen his hold.

Erik’s face is full of annoyed frustration and shock. T’Challa laughs and takes a long sip of cool water from his bottle, watching Erik wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Erik asks when he sees T’Challa watching him amusedly.

“You have no idea.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

They spend a lot of time together.

It was inevitable when Erik became his official bodyguard, but it’s more than he expected. They train, they eat meals together, sometimes joined by Shuri, once with Nakia, his mother too, but never Okoye.

She’d take some time.

T'Challa knew enforcing anything on such a strong willed person would be out of the realm of reason, but Okoye's love and loyalty to the throne, to _him_ , ran deeper than anything else. He had told her, and always would if ever asked, that she was the strongest, most skilled warrior and no one could protect him better, but they chose the jaguar for a reason.

Okoye was not expendable, and neither was Erik if T'Challa had any say, but he was easier to let go in dangerous terrain than someone they needed at all times guarding Wakanda.

Erik travels with him to meetings, usually staying out of the way, but his gaze is persistent and trained on the King, always. Okoye approves of that, regardless of whether she likes him yet or not. 

They haven’t been involved in a high ops mission yet, but Shuri’s been working on a system between the jaguar and panther suits to allow communication and symphony during a fight.

T’Challa’s amazed by her brain on the daily, so it’s refreshing to see Erik cling to her every word like precious gems. Erik stays behind late some nights, when T’Challa leaves them both be in the lab, with Okoye on guard because she protects the princess as much as her King.

Erik’s been surprisingly good.

No sudden temper tantrums or ideas of stealing half of Wakanda’s resources and running for the hills, which is an improvement. It also helps that he’s been talking to Nakia. She has similar view points on expanding their help, bridging the gaps and allowing others access without all the fanfare and violence that Erik has initially started with.

T’Challa likes that Erik’s falling into place, even if he disappears for days at a time, staying out near the huts and away from the everyday rush of the palace and surrounding buildings and villages.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Cap contacts him a few weeks later, just like clockwork.

T’Challa was honestly surprised it took him this long this time around; must’ve been a difficult mission they were involved in. He’s polite, always asks about his family first, but once the pleasantry passes, he barely gets a breath in before asking, softly, hesitantly, “And Buck?”

“Your friend’s doing well, Captain,” T’Challa laughs and hears Steve sigh and Natasha say something to Sam in the background.

“Things are getting messy out here,” Steve says, sounding as exhausted as T’Challa feels somedays after sparring for hours with Erik until their moves are so synchronized, it’s difficult to tell the gold and purple apart.

“Aren’t they always?” T’Challa asks and Steve laughs. There’s shuffling on the other end, then Steve says, “I’ll keep you updated, and just tell Buck…”

“I will, Rogers,” T’Challa fills in for him and hopes Steve’s soft spot for his best friend doesn’t lead to his second untimely death too soon.

“Goodbye, your majesty.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Nakia’s intelligence is balanced with her generous heart.

She’s good at seeing an almost lost cause and knows exactly how to fix it too. Erik is one of the kinds she probably saw from a couple of miles away.

It’s easy to recruit Erik as one of the members of their outreach program and soon after she gives Erik the lay down of the land, and what their purpose would be. Even though it's not what he initially had in mind, it's something, ever expanding, and it will suffice.

“He certainly knows Oakland better than both of us,” Nakia says when they land near the new building that’s under construction for the program.

Erik’s already out of the ship the second it touches ground, falling into place with the children in the court immediately, throwing and bouncing the faded orange ball and looking so at home it makes T’Challa’s chest ache.

He feel a hand slip into his and squeezes back, turns to reach Nakia’s temple and kisses the soft skin to center himself.

She smells like white water lilies and home.

“Shall we?” she asks and T’Challa smiles.

“After you.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Once you become King, your responsibilities are endless.

T'Challa has been learning about what he needs to do, how he needs to speak, how he needs to act since he was barely able to walk. He enjoyed his childhood too, surrounded by his family, his friends, their tribes, the beautiful golden sun and the warriors that taught him all he would ever need to know. 

His father always made it look easier than how it feels when he's sitting upon the throne with people's lives in his hands, waiting for his judgement, guidance.

His mother always told him that being a King isn't how you dress or how rich you are, although that is a part of it. What matter's most is how you lead, how you love, and how you allow yourself to become the panther and protect Wakanda like it's an extension of yourself. 

His father knew how to do that; T'Challa still feels like he was wadding in a mini waterhole watching the older kids swim around in the larger, more beautiful blue lagoon.

Sometimes, the need to just turn around and ask his father for advice would be at the tip of his tongue until it would hit him again. 

That was the thing. You never get used to it, the idea of someone being gone. When it feel like it's reconciled, accepted, and you're moving on, someone, or something, makes you realize it all over again, makes you experience that shocking ache in the pit of your stomach for just a moment.

Then the moment passes and you continue on, make the best decision you can, and wait for things to fall into place.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Erik’s ideas are brilliant, when picked apart from all the ones laced from his experience in the military and destruction, when he offers them during the meeting and much easier to follow through with since he knows California better.

International development takes more time and starts slowly.

The United Nations had a vision of farmers and peasants working soil as Wakanda and being presented with what it actually contains and can provide hits headlines immediately. Which mean tons of interviews, press conferences, and reporters.

T’Challa honestly would rather battle through another civil war at this point. He has no idea how Stark deals with this kind of media all the time.

Sometimes, he just needs a moment to get out of his own head, away from the constant responsibility and expectations, and he misses his father, misses the gentle guidance and encouragement constantly at his back. Accompanied with all the guilt and anger about what his father hid from him doesn’t make it a reprieve, he’d rather avoid another trip the ancestral world for a while.

The last person he expects to find up on the highest building at the top of Shuri’s lab is Erik with a flask in his hand, but maybe he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Nice of you to join me, cuz,” Erik calls out without even turning around and T’Challa wonders if he’s calculated what his footsteps are like, what his scent is like. He’s been trained without T’Challa too, on how best to know the panther inside and out.

“The sun’s gonna be gone soon, you gonna stand there all night?” Erik asks and takes a sip from the flask before holding it out for T’Challa. T’Challa takes it and sits next to him, takes a sip and looks at the sun dipping low into the horizon, leaving streaks of pink, orange, and red across the sky.

“I dreamed about the sunsets in Wakanda every night,” Erik says and T’Challa stays quiet, wanting to listen rather than talk for once.

“Imagined this entire fantastical world, and you know what? It’s more beautiful than I even imagined. Oakland ain’t got nothing on Wakanda.”

T’Challa watches the sunlight cast off shadows across his face until it’s gone and the darkness shrouds them both.

“Ain’t never thought about the stars here, and it’s just...” Erik trails off and finally looks at T’Challa sitting next to him, the empty flask held loosely between his fingers.

The stars are like glittering crystals in the midnight blue sky and it’s T’Challa’s favorite part of any day. When it’s dark out, the panther feels more at home than any other time, senses more heightened, the feeling of the earth, sky, stars all making him feel powerful and ethereal.

“I know,” T’Challa finishes his thought.

The stars are mesmerizing in every way, but Erik, a little broken, staring up at them in wonder, dropping all his barriers and anger is even more mesmerizing than the stars. 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

He takes Shuri to Disneyland, finally.

Well, Erik is the one that convinces him to come along, since Shuri and Erik would have gone regardless.

It’s a day away from all the tasks and reports and meetings he needs to attend, but it’s worth it when Shuri excitedly buys pink sparkly mouse ears and eats an endless amount of bright colored sugary treats with Peter, some sweet girl named MJ, and their friend Ned.

He knows Peter but he's not entirely sure who the other two are except that Stark sends them over as soon as they land in California on one of his jets saying he appreciates T’Challa chipping in with babysitting duty. Which is essentially what he and Erik are doing as the three kids have a grand old time and only check in with them when they necessarily have too.

“Oh come on grandpa, cheer up, even old men enjoy Disney, it’s a strict rule,” Erik says when he comes back to find T’Challa on his ipad finishing a conference call, sitting on a bright pink and extravagant castle bench.

“What makes you think I’m not enjoying myself?” T’Challa counters and Erik laughs, shakes his head.

“Man, you haven’t had a single bite of anything that isn’t good for you but tastes like heaven,” Erik says and T’Challa resists rolling his eyes.

So what if he didn’t inhale those foot long churros dripping with sugar or fall head first into a swirl of pineapple dole whip cream?

“Try this,” Erik holds out a chunk of light and dark brown swirled chocolate covered in nuts on fancy green wrapping paper.

It’s definitely full of ungodly amounts of sugar.

Erik sits right next to him and annoys him until T’Challa finally gives in and takes the hunk of fudge from his hands and bites into it with vigor.

"Happy now?” he asks between a mouthful, forgetting all manners he was taught repeatedly since he was able to sit at a dining table back home. He doesn’t even hear what Erik says when the rich chocolate melts on his tongue, the texture soft and velvety and the nuts just perfectly crunchy.

“That is…” Erik is grinning from ear to ear and it’s such a dumb thing to be happy about that T’Challa can’t help but laugh.

“It’s incredible.”

“Told you,” Erik says, all smug and satisfied, and leans over to wipe the corner of T’Challa’s mouth using his thumb and then sucks his thumb into his mouth.

“Sinfully good,” Erik says and bites into the fudge too. T’Challa doesn’t have time to process any of it since Peter and Shuri come running back to them and make a lot of hand gestures and tug them both along to another topsy turvy roller coaster with a repetitive melodic tune playing the whole time.

Erik looks up at him knowingly, smile soft from one end of the line and T’Challa feels his stomach do some weird fluttery thing and blames the sugar loaded fudge.

In all honesty, Disneyland isn’t so bad after all. 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“Dude, you look like a deer caught in headlights around her,” Erik says one morning after Nakia leaves the grand patio where she had joined them for breakfast outside.

She’s been working on an undercover mission to free a school of girls locked in a prison cell for trying to build a school in their village.

They’re out safely now and with the help of financial and industrial resources from Wakanda, they’ll have their freedom and education underway in just a few short weeks. She’s incredible, the situations she can improve and lives she changes.

It’s hard not to be in awe of all her beauty, grace, wisdom, and strength, so yeah he can’t help but look like a startled antelope anytime she gives him her full attention.

T’Challa says nothing to Erik who pokes fun at him for the duration of their meal and finally stops and finishes his coconut orange smoothie and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. If T’Challa’s mother had been at the table Erik would have definitely been scolded for that one.

“You like her a lot,” Erik says slowly and T’Challa doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading. The words don’t look like anything but scribbled lines at this point.

“Shit, cuz, you’ve got it bad,” Erik says next and comes around the table end to sit next to him. He’s been doing that a lot now lately, touching shoulders, thighs pressed close, foot pressed against his ankle.

T’Challa isn’t sure if he’s trying to put his training into play, to feel, know , and be in constant awareness of the panther or if he’s just touch starved and too afraid to ask for it.

“We broke up when I asked her to be my Queen,” T’Challa tells him and he’s not sure why he’s brought that up. He hates thinking about it, even though he’s reconciled with what happened and why it happened and knows it was far out of his control.

But he’s never talked about it. Not to anyone besides Shuri, and Okoye when things got really bad.

Heartbreak takes a while to heal. Heartbreak when you’re still in love with the person and know the other person loves you back, but just, just not the way you want hurts worse and takes even longer.

“She dumped you?”

“That wouldn’t be the exact word I’d use but essentially, yes. Being Queen ties her to Wakanda only, and she believes in more than that.”

“So now you’re just…” Erik’s trails off. He feels warm next to him, he’s always very warm, but like this in the open patio where the wind blows lightly south and feels cool on his skin, Erik feels like the sun itself.

“Now we’re seeing where it takes us.”

“If it’s any consolation, she’d cross heaven and hell for you,” Erik says while leaning in closer to take a look at T'Challa's book. T’Challa laughs and looks up at Erik smiling at him.

Nakia would.

She was his best friend before they became anything more. He had friends of course but never anyone he could fully trust. Nakia was a Princess of the River Tribe and her royal blood status made it easier to trust and understand.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop loving her.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

There’s a revolt that starts in the village a few weeks after the United Nations send people out to scout for locations to film and place on headlines.

T’Challa knows revolts that start from within aren’t made in a day.

It’s been building since T’Challa became king, lost to Erik, almost died came back to life, fought through a civil war of sorts, almost watched Erik die, forgave him, opened Wakanda up from isolation, and took in the man that everyone believed was once a tyrant and enemy as his personal bodyguard and protector.

Frustration fosters hate which can spill into anger and action.

“You need to be out of sight, my King,” Okoye informs him when she comes back from setting up a guard at every entrance to the palace. Shuri and his mother are already tucked away in safe keeping, but T’Challa wanted to stay.

What kind of King would he be if he hid from his own people?

“I can’t hide from them, Okoye, they need to know I’m here to listen.”

“They’re not here to talk to you, cuz,” Erik says from across the room where he’s been overlooking the ground below.

“T’Challa,” Okoye says persistently and T’Challa isn’t sure what the best course of action is here, but since both odds are against him right now, he doesn’t argue.

“Fine.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

The hut that Erik stays in is farthest away from Wakanda’s civilization.

It’s smaller than the others too, but it’s sturdy, has a mat with soft covers and a small oil lamp to keep light. It’s where Erik takes him to hide from the oncoming rush of people out for his head.

The council and Dora Milaje thought it best to calm the oncoming attack first, then when things settled down, they could discuss with T’Challa later the best course of action to achieve a diplomatic end result that wouldn’t end in revolt or bloodshed.

“I don’t know why you come out here when you have a bed inside that is three times the size of this entire room,” T’Challa says and sees Erik look up from where he’s slouched low, watching the entrance and horizon behind it.

“You wouldn’t,” Erik says simply and it piques T’Challa’s curiosity.

“Why not?”

“You’ve never fought in a war in a middle of a desert with nothing but your shoes and a rifle to get you through the night.”

T’Challa watches the dark shadows cross Erik’s face, the memories of whatever hell he escaped still clear in his eyes. The chain around his neck glows from the moonlight, the ring sitting on his sternum.

“I do not know all that you’ve suffered, Erik, but if there was anyway I could have stopped it, or brought you home I would have,” T’Challa says.

Its’ not enough, there’s so much more he wants to say, apologize for his father’s mistakes, but there’s not much he can say without riling Erik up and they’ve been doing so well, moving forward.

“Nah,” Erik shakes his head and leaves his position to come sit next to T’Challa. The hut is small enough to feel cramped, but it also feels solidifying having Erik right next to him.

“It was my home there, too. I didn’t belong, not really, ain’t belong here either though.”

T’Challa wants to argue but he knows better. He hasn’t experienced the division Erik’s referring to, the way he can never feel settled and calm when half of him is left there in Oakland, other parts all over the world where he served, and leftovers here in Wakanda that he doesn’t know how to reconnect with.

“If it’s any consolation,” T’Challa says, repeating the words back to Erik that he used on him just a few days ago. “You’re doing pretty great.”

Erik’s smile is small, hesitant and T’Challa has the irrational urge to press forward and kiss his temple or forehead like he does to Shuri sometimes.

T’Challa reaches out and traces the ring tucked against his chest softly, feeling Erik’s scarred skin break out in goosebumps at his touch.

“There’s more of you in there than you realize.”

Erik grabs his hand before he can pull away and that sudden anger and heartache in his eyes slowly disappears.

“Wise words from a wise King,” Erik says softly and T’Challa realizes that’s the first time he’s acknowledged that T’Challa is the King, aside from the ceremony of the jaguar and panther twining as one. He also realizes they’re still basically holding hands, but he doesn’t want to pull away.

There’s still much to learn but one thing he does already know is that the bond between the jaguar and the panther is deep and changes the way you feel, interact, and need that person. The most amount of physical contact they’ve experienced is during practice and sparring, but this.

This is something different, softer, more intimate.

Erik doesn’t let go and neither does T’Challa and the night passes through in slow steady beats of the cicadas outside their hut.

 

 

 

* 

 

 

 

The revolts settle down once T’Challa finally communicates with the various tribes and learn their grievances and misfortunes.

There are rules in place now, areas labeled as private property to avoid outsiders from stomping all over hard worked soil or barge into their animal’s sanctuaries.

They makes changes to how they will send resources and start a trade market so Wakanda not only will help benefit those in need of their people in the outside world, but will also be able to create safe places for their people in areas all over the world, and neighboring areas in Africa.

It’s an exhausting few weeks, but T’Challa makes it through and in the end he’s so grateful to M’Baku for chipping in and creating a stronger alliance with the entire nation of Wakanda. The Jabari still choose to live in the mountains and keep to themselves, but there’s fostering alliances and relationships now and M’Baku comes over for dinner at the palace a few times a month.

Those are the dinners Erik complains about the most since most of the extravagant, mouth watering meals are all vegetarian.

“What if they made some chicken for those of us that do like it?” Erik asks while sitting on T’Challa’s end table near the bed, rolling a tiny orange basketball in his hands that a little boy handed to T’Challa on one of his visits to Oakland.

“It’s not about the chicken, it’s about the respect,” T’Challa says as he comes out of the shower with a towel draped across his waist. Erik’s eyes linger across his still wet skin but T’Challa doesn’t mention it, just continues to smooth his palms and soles down his feet with clary sage and white lavender oils that Shuri makes for him to help with balance and stress.

People can spend years studying for their medical degrees, but T'Challa knows Shuri is the best healer that there ever will be. 

Erik's head is pressed back against the wall, eyes hooded, and he's dragging a hand down his chest to rub the crease between his thigh and groin. It's clumsy, T'Challa can tell by the way his hand slips before he digs his nails in his thigh and drags upwards, but it doesn’t really matter. Erik knows how he looks and he knows that he looks even better when he turns it on, even if he is a little sloppy with it.

T'Challa tears his gaze away and wonders why he's the one in a flimsy towel, basically naked, and Erik's the one making the entire room feel a little too warm. 

This has been a new development in their relationship that he doesn’t really know what to do with.

Being cousins is a murky, loaded swamp that will take a while to reconcile with considering their past history, partners during a fight they’re very good at, and friends they’ve established pretty well enough too.

But this new thing where everything feels just a little too tense and T’Challa can’t help but want for something he knows he probably shouldn’t, that's new.

Or maybe it’s been happening all along, but he hadn't noticed.

T’Challa dresses while Erik gives a monologue about these chicken wings he once had at this restaurant bar that were the best damn wings he’s ever had and how he’ll take him there some day.

“I bet whatever wings they made there would not compare to the ones here,” T’Challa says when he’s ran out of words and Erik scoffs, gets off the table and stands right in front of him.

“So we’re gonna bet on it?” Erik asks and reaches out to smooth out T’Challa’s collar.

His thumb traces the edge of his collar bone, a subtle brush that would go unnoticed if T'Challa wasn't totally captivated by him right now. It feels like a live wire between them, and T'Challa catches Erik's eyes. He smiles sweetly, his face is open, unguarded in a way that makes something twist painfully in T'Challa's chest.

T’Challa pulls away and stomps the hurricane of feelings he can't deal with away. They're going to be late as it is, and M'Baku doesn't like to be kept waiting.

Erik's wearing his hair in a hair tie and loose denim clothing that will definitely stick out among the Wakandan regalia at dinner.

T’Challa doesn’t mind it one bit.

“It’s a bet.” 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Progress is impossible without change.

Change can take time or happen in the blink of the eye but one must remember that no matter how things change and move forward, falling back a step is all part of the progression.

T’Challa’s father prepared him for many things.

How to interact with other royal tribes, to create diplomatic ties, to love and care for his family, to appreciate what he has, and to give with an open heart. He also taught him about change and progress.

How it can happen in a day or a few years to a few centuries.

T’Challa wonders sometimes if his father ever regretted keeping it a secret. Did he ever think of the little boy living alone in a world that would never truly be his? How with just a single visit he changed his entire life?

Did he ever wonder about him finding his way back?

Would he have left him then, knowing what Erik would become now?

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Erik doesn’t agree with protecting Wakanda’s armed weapons from people who do need it.

To an extent, T’Challa can understand where he’s coming from, but how would the approach of handing out weapons to the general public fare with the United Nations?

It’s not ideal, or safe.

There’s too much risk of the weapons falling into the wrong hands and with justified anger and rebellion, it can end in disaster. 

T’Challa disagrees and it changes the progress they made with their relationship as a whole.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“They’re suffering more every day. You can’t just not give a damn about it because you’re living up here all fancy when they’re your people too.”

It’s a repetitive argument and a valid one too. But there’s always precautions to think of and no matter how much he tries to understand, Erik’s experienced more than him in a different world and lived a different life.

“It’s not the best plan of action.”

“You didn’t run it by the council yet.”

“And I won’t because it has too many ways to go wrong. We can’t hand over vibranium to a growing factor of war dogs.”

They’re standing toe to toe now, rather than a few feet part like the night had started out. The entire room feels stifling and tense and T’Challa honestly would rather be anywhere else than watch Erik look away and shake his head, scoffing at first and then laughing like it pains him to do so.

“Of course, I don’t know why I thought it any different.”

“What are you talking about?” T'Challa asks and rubs a hand over his face. He's tired of this argument, frustrated that Erik's won't _understand_. 

“It doesn’t matter, does it? Even if my father fucked up, he was still from Wakanda. The blood that flowed through his veins came from this soil and air, and it’s a part of me. But what I think, what I saw and felt and watched all my life means shit here.”

He spits the words at T’Challa like they're burning the inside of his chest and it makes anger swell up in his own gut, furious at himself, at Erik, at the circumstances.

“You tried to be King, you almost brought Wakanda down altogether.”

Erik’s eyes widen then flame with an anger so deep, T’Challa can feel it to his core.

“I won the challenge.”

“You did, but it was not over. I came back and even so, the world wasn’t ready for you yet. Not the version you were then.”

“So what I’m a whole new person now? Is that it? You think just eating together and hanging out in your little sister’s lab would change everything? Maybe you’re not that fucking wise after all.”

“Maybe not, but I’m also not the one advocating weaponry to people who have suffered and denied so much from their own life that pulling the trigger on the first person who says no to them won’t be far from their first option.”

T’Challa’s skin feels hot and he wants to reach out and unclench Erik’s fists, for apologize for rubbing his past in his face, but his pride won’t let him. His father taught him to keep his pride in check in all matters, to put other’s before himself when deemed appropriate, but right now he’s rather be selfish and stake his claim on a throne some days he wishes he never had to rule.

“Do whatever the fuck you want, your highness,” Erik says finally, breaking the tension but in a manner that makes him want to punch a wall in frustration.

“The panther can do just fine without a jaguar blocking it’s path,” Erik says, a raw edge of pain in his voice, eyes full of hostility.

Erik slams the door when he leaves and T’Challa waits, counting the steady beat of the grand clock that belonged to his great grandfather tick in the silence of the room.

He doesn’t come back.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart.

The blood that flows through both of them is from one source, one family, one country, but their hearts beat to a different rhythm, pumping joy and pain in equal measures. 

When there's nothing else left, when there's only that steady heartbeat to keep you company and the rush of blood in your veins, it's important to learn the sound of it.

Otherwise you'll never understand what it's saying.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Shuri is far more perceptive than people realize, which is probably why she’s a genius and a step ahead of everyone else in the world.

She knows when things can go wrong, and fixes them before they all fall apart.

Somedays, her brilliance is astounding and on other days, it’s just a little bit annoying.

“Brother, you’ve been pouting for days,” Shuri says loudly when she walks into his bedroom at a very early hour in the morning. T’Challa came home late last night after assisting Nakia in a break out mission and he’s still exhausted.

“You’ve been throwing yourself into one mission after another, barely making it through council meetings, and I demand to know what is wrong.”

T’Challa peeks out from beneath the blanket to see Shuri standing at the foot of his bed with her hand on her hips, her smile bright and beautiful as always, but her expression one of concern.

“I’m fine, Shuri, I just need sleep.”

She huffs out a sound of annoyance and T’Challa makes an undignified yelp when she crawls into the bed next to him; her toes are as cold as icicles.

“Why are your toes so cold?”

“You’re the one hogging all the blankets,” Shuri fires back and settles in more comfortably and tucking her feet against the back of his knees.

She props her head up by her elbow and T’Challa gives up on all chances of getting a few more minutes of sleep.

“What happened between you and Erik?”

“Nothing,” T’Challa says, perhaps too quickly because Shuri narrows her eyes and punches his chest lightly.

“You haven’t sat at a table with him for days now and he doesn’t stay in the same room as you for more than 2 seconds.”

T’Challa shrugs.

“Lover’s quarrel?” T’Challa laughs and rubs his hand over his face, trying to avoid the topic altogether.

It wasn’t just the things Shuri’s mentioned.

He’s gone to every mission by himself. Spends all his hours working or in meetings or around Okoye and the Dora to avoid bumping into Erik and confronting all things they maybe should not have said to each other.

The worst part is, he can’t stop missing him.

Not just the jaguar’s presence, although he misses that very much too. Knowing someone had his back at all times, that someone was at the same pace as him and worked as well as two peas in a pod was a blessing he didn’t realize he’d taken for granted. But he also just missed, Erik.

Erik and his dumb jokes, dazzling smile, unlimited rants, aching sadness, and daring eyes. But that’s not something he’s ready to say out loud so he does the next best thing he can do: he starts a tickle war.

Shuri’s pealing laughter fills the room and it soothes the jagged edge in T’Challa’s heart.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

He dreams more now.

He’s not sure if it’s a side effect of having been to the ancestral plane a few times, but his mother and the women that attend to the newly planted heart shaped herbs that are still growing from their roots say that it’s a normal effect.

“Being a King leaves a lot for your mind to work with, my love, your father dreamt more times than I can remember,” his mother says gently and cups his cheek, encouraging him with her words and touch.

He has a recurrent dream, or more like a nightmare on some nights. He finds himself in front of a broken building, sirens wailing, smoke clouding his vision, his father dead in his arms. He couldn’t save him. He couldn’t.

He’s suddenly sitting in a tiny apartment building, a little boy is sitting across from him, clutching onto a man with streaks of blood down his chest. He’s crying and rocking back and forth, calling out baba, baba.

T’Challa hates waking up from these dreams, gasping and heart aching, his throat closing up with the odd urge to cry.

Dreams are meant to guide you, reconnect you, give you warning. His father always went to an interpreter when his dreams felt too real, too raw.

T’Challa stares up at the ceiling, the crystal glass and swirling wood, the pictures and streaks of paint.

He’s not sure he wants to know what his dreams mean just yet.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“This is a highly dangerous operative mission, my King, we need the jaguar to be there to fall protect you if anything goes wrong.”

T’Challa chooses not to argue about how he can certainly take care of himself, and he’s got Shuri right behind him, but the elders are only looking out for his safety.

They became more open to Erik through the jaguar becoming his bodyguard and resisting that for such a high end mission because of some petty issue they don’t know how to resolve yet would be a mistake.

T’Challa traces the route on the map, calculates how many hours it might take, which road to take outside the river, when to stay hidden and where to find a reprieve of shelter if need be.

“I’ll talk to him.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

To his surprise, Erik accepts his request without any opposition and T’Challa feels bereft for a few minutes when he walks away.

He won’t make eye contact with him, but he lingers for a minute and before T’Challa can start any kind of conversation, he’s swept away with Shuri. Something about the new project she’s working on in her lab and how she's upgraded his phone and added in new features.

T’Challa smiles at the way she clings to his arm and the gentle look of fond devotion Erik reserves only for her.

In another life, they would have been a force to be reckoned with.

They still had time, and T’Challa has an endless amount of patience instilled in him through the years from his mother and her kind heart.

Maybe allowing their bond to take over for a while rather than trying to steer their relationship is what they needed in the first place.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“You look beautiful,” T’Challa says when Nakia comes into view at the end of the great hall.

It’s quiet in here now that everyone’s outside, his voice echoes just slightly. Her purple and gold dress wraps around her like spun silk and trails behind her so elegantly.

She’s a vision, always is.

Nakia smiles and takes his arm, leaning up a little to kiss his cheek.

He feels ridiculous for feeling like a ten year school boy taking his girl for their first outing to a ball but it’s inevitable with Nakia.

The tribe of the ancestors have a tradition.

Once a new King has ruled for a potential of 3 months, there’s a ceremony done in his honor for surmounting over the hardest few weeks of his life. In all honesty, T’Challa thinks the harder parts are yet to come but he respect the elder’s tradition as he was taught to and wants to make his mother smile as much as she can and if wearing a beautiful black and purple kurta while walking into a crowd of cheering people will make her happy, so be it.

The best part about the entire thing was that Nakia was staying home for a while and asking her to be by his side was the first thing he wanted as soon as the ceremony was announced.

“You’re pretty incredible yourself you know,” Nakia interrupts him when T’Challa is raving about her to the woman next to him, who’s smiling and nodding with excitement at just having spoken to the King.

“Nakia,” T’Challa starts and he she hushes him.

“You’ve stepped up and ruled when other’s might have cowered and fled. You made decisions that were more difficult to bear and it’s only been a few months of your reign. You’re incredible, T’Challa.”

The world feels like it drains away for a moment, and all he can focus on is Nakia and her smile, the way her hand feels wrapped around his, her eye’s holding soft adoration. T’Challa lifts their intertwined hands and kisses the back of her knuckles.

“Thank you.”

She looks away from him, and T'Challa knows he can't control it around her, his 'love struck gaze' as Shuri says, but Nakia's no better. She fumbles with her bangles around her wrists and flushes like she did the first time T'Challa had stood with her in the garden, away from the festivities inside, and kissed her, soft and sweet like the summer rain. 

“Will you dance with me now?” she aks, and T’Challa laughs and leads her onto the deck outside where there’s music playing so loud you can feel the bass in the very pores of your skin.

Shuri finds them a moment later cuts in to steal a dance with Nakia of course and their movements are incredible to watch, they're both so in sync.

“I’ll leave you two alone!” she says and winks at them one a slower, softer song starts and T’Challa flushes but pulls Nakia close, ducks down so she can wrap her arms around his neck.

“You’ve been so patient with me,” she says all of a sudden and T’Challa kisses her shoulder, gentle, honest.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He twirls Nakia around and brings her back in his arms, laughing as she spins and almost twists her dress all around him.

T’Challa can feel the fissure of tension at the base of his neck before Nakia says anything. It’s the same rippling feeling, like a spark shooting down his spine, making him more aware, connected. Erik was invited of course, but Shuri had made it seem like he would be to busy to attend, but before T’Challa even turns towards him while swaying Nakia in his arms, he knows the jaguar is there.

“You two are so alike yet completely different,” she says softly and T’Challa catches Erik’s eyes from across the floor. He’s wearing a deep maroon kurta, the design and jewels embedded on their definitely confirming Shuri picked it out for him.

He looks like out of place, but not, holding onto the glass in his hand like it’s an anchor, eyes switching between T’Challa and Nakia in his arms.

“It’s okay you know,” Nakia says gently and T’Challa feels like he’s been pulled out of a reverie.

“What?”

“I wanted to keep our relationship open because I’m not ready to be your Queen yet, my love, but that doesn’t mean you can’t love another.”

For a moment, he doesn’t understand what she’s talking about at all, but Nakia sways them at an angle until he’s looking across the room at Erik again.

There’s a little girl and boy showing off their sparkly shoes and dress to him. Erik’s smile makes the entire room feel brighter and he kneels down to be at their level. It’s an image T'Challa didn’t know he needed but so achingly sweet it makes his heart hurt a little.

It’s like a ton of rhinos trample over him all at once.

The raw ache in his chest every time he looks at Erik wasn’t just the guilt of his father’s actions. It wasn’t just a begrudging affectionate respect for a cousin or brother he could have had in another life. 

His angry glare, his dazzling grins, his humor to cover the pain, his desire to extend beyond themselves and help others even if it was obstructed by violence at first.

Erik made him calm, when everything else felt like it would crumble right under him. He was kind, even though the world gave him nothing but pain and loss. He was lost, looking for a place to anchor himself, aching for a family and not knowing what to do with one when they invited him in with open arms.

He was the jaguar to the panther, a shadow waiting to attack anything that tried to hurt the King, destined to protect him at all costs. 

T'Challa wonders how he was destined to love one in the same.

Both Nakia and Erik’s connection to Wakanda, was as strong as the river current, but their hearts rebelled and more than what they could understand themselves.

They want to help, go beyond what is just theirs, but the manifestation of that want was influenced by their environment, their society, and ideals placed at a young age.

Erik chose the wild, destructive road that almost led to his downfall. Nakia has the same aspirations, to help and provide aid for those in need, never content with just one thing, but her potential wasn’t occluded with the disastrous pain and misery losing a father and being raised in a community that never would appreciate you for who you are and longing for a home you know exists but might not accept you anymore.

The kids leave when their mother calls and T'Challa notices the mistrust and protective stance the mother takes between her children and Erik.

T’Challa feels a thrill of anger roll through him but he swallows it back down, knows that after the events that took place, people had their own ways of dealing with all the change.

Erik looks uncomfortable standing among so many that could be his friends and family in another life, jaw clenched to look angry but a reaction to feeling out of a place.

He looks dangerous and beautiful and T’Challa kisses Nakia’s shoulder when she squeezes his hand still holding hers.

He can feel her smile against his neck and he wants to say something, to explain how much she means to him, how much Erik has come to mean to him. He doesn’t need to though.

She knows him better than anyone.

She breaks their dance and keeps his hand in hers as they walk through the crowd towards Erik.

Erik raises the glass in his hand to them and his shoulders relax immediately at the presence of people he knows, who know him and all the changes he’s experiencing. T’Challa smiles when the other’s around them look on in curiosity.

Nakia laughs at something Erik says, and T’Challa looks away from everyone else and focuses on both of them, taking in the complexity and overwhelming feelings he has in his chest.

Erik bumps his shoulder against his and it breaks and fixes something all at once.

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

*

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

“The greatest betrayal is from the one you call your own blood, your family, your country. We must not let love and anger shroud our vision, we remain patient even through our trials and keep the hurt contained until our people are safe first.”

His father’s words ring through his ears when T’Challa looks up from the dusty floor and sees Erik in front of him, but they don’t make that much sense, not when he’s been desperate to see his face for hours now.

His wrists are still chained up, and the toxin running through his bloodstream is making him woozy and dizzy, makes his tongue loose.

“You came.”

“Would I ever leave you, cuz?”

 

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://tchallacap.tumblr.com)


End file.
